Witchy Wrath
by Wordgawk
Summary: A blunder on Alistair's part earns him the anger of the group's leader.


**Author's note: Once I finished Dragon Age Origins, I couldn't resist picking on Alistair. And because of it, out came a story.**

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Witchy Wrath

Things were looking up. Alistair was becoming more adept at whacking darkspawn back as time went by. Chats with the others were pretty amiable, amazingly even with Morrigan for the moment. He and their feminine leader's relationship was blossoming nicely, with a flirtation or two inbetween fighting mayhem. Invitations to tents weren't solely sexual advancements for the asker; sometimes they'd talk deeply with the relief of not needing to stand on their feet for hours to do so.

They were growing intimate. Alistair couldn't ask for a better result for his interactions.

So it was a blow to Alistair's skull when he pushed aside the tent flaps for Solona's home on the road to be met with her screaming at him to get out. It wasn't a joking and playful cajole; it was vicious and scathing and very, very loud. Solona lay on her bedroll on her side, furious as could be. Sweaty and shifty, she refused to glance at him past the initial greeting.

Alistair's eyes bugged out at the wave of hostility. He considered prodding about her distress but he remembered he liked his body parts to remain whole. He practically threw himself outdoors before Solona could castrate him. Hell, Morrigan acted gruff towards him but never vindictive like this.

Now _his _body was coated in sweat.

Why did concern for someone's well-being backfire? Alistair pondered this when he plunked himself at the doused remains of yesterday's bonfire. He ignored the probing stares from the others.

Not one to shy away from the topic of femme fatales, Zevran sat down right next to Alistair. Alistair ignored him, but this worked as well as swimming with his head underwater and breathing.

"What did you do, dear Alistair, to deserve a verbal spanking as you got?" Zevran was trying his best to appear sympathetic.

Sympathy from Zevran was a better sign than gaining sympathy from Sten, who Alistair would laugh about if that ever happened. "I didn't find out. Wanted to keep my brain in here." Alistair tapped his forehead.

Zevran nodded in understanding. "Smart move. Get out first and get the chance to ask later."

Alistair drummed up cohesive reasons why Solona let loose her screaming barrage but he couldn't pick out anything substantial. Their talks were mellow for the most part. Did he insult her unintentionally? He voiced his concern aloud.

Zevran leaned in, a cheeky grin spreading on his face. "I have a notion about her."

Alistair dared hope Zevran's advice was helpful. "Yes?"

Making wavy motions with his hands, Zevran lightly laughed. "Perhaps our fellow Grey Warden is, how you say... sexually unsatisfied?"

Scratch out the hope for decent advice. "Dear Maker, no!" Alistair's voice cracked in his fluster. Lewd images flashed through his already busy mind.

"Hey, I say it as I see it." Zevran's grin widened when he picked up that he had gotten to the troubled man.

"Well, then, see less. You're strange." Alistair frowned at the assassin, who he swore was trying to mentally assassinate his sanity. "Leave, please."

Zevran stood slowly. "Ooh, touchy. Maybe I should revise my assessment and diagnose you to be the one who requires sexual release. I do know a highly effective method which involves fast fingers and a-"

"Ah! Away!" Alistair covered his ears. He glanced over and up to his other side when Morrigan strode up. Fantastic.

"My, my, am I missing out on tonight's festivity of bothering Alistair?" Morrigan directed openly to the men. Alistair silently thanked the Maker she didn't overhear their last part of discussion.

Zevran sighed in defeat. "I am out. I will be nice. He's all yours." He walked away.

Better to get the electrocution over with now than prolong it. Alistair put his arms down and tried to sound civil. "Something I can do for you?"

Morrigan crossed her arms and leaned her weight on a hip. "Yes. Fix the disaster you wrought upon yourself by going to the poor girl you so merrily cheered up."

Did he really have to spell everything out for her? "You, and I'm sure everyone within a 20 mile radius from this site, heard the woman bellow at me."

The apostate wore a sneaky expression as if she enjoyed the fire walk she was about to send Alistair through. "I spoke with her."

Did he hear right? Solona voluntarily conversing with the crazy witch?

Morrigan read right through him, for she continued cheerily. "I seem to be better company than you during those minutes of talk. I rooted to the source of her despair. 'Tis a simple matter for me since I'm not you."

She paused, enjoying her hidden cache of knowledge that he was not privy to. When she didn't reveal any further, Alistair shook his head impatiently. "And?"

"Figure it out yourself. I calmed her down enough for her to see straight and less red."

"Wonderful," Alistair muttered. Trust the prickly Morrigan of all people to pull Solona out of her frightening mood and then dump the remnants of the lousy feelings on him. Well, progress was good. He mumbled a thanks.

"You're welcome." Morrigan moved away. After two steps, she turned as if forgetting to utter something important. "Oh, and if you want true pleasure, you must sink deep in the motions."

Mouth agape and blush number 621 today, Alistair resisted exploding into a yelling fit himself. Morrigan chuckled and left him.

Alistair drew up the courage to make it within a foot from Solona's tent. He steeled his ears for ringing and entered.

Solona remained in the same fetal position as she had been before she threw him out. Her bedroll covers were messily tossed aside. From the odd angle Alistair could gauge of her profile from behind her, she didn't appear to want to spit venom at him as a greeting. She queried his name since she couldn't see him.

"Yes. I, uh, no, it's not me." If her explosive fuse was going to burn a slow countdown and have a delayed reaction, Alistair figured he'd be safe if she didn't think it was really him.

No response came right away and Alistair let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. He terribly abhorred being screamed at when there wasn't a logical reason for it.

"Sit." The request -or was it a command?- came out softly, but the underlying instruction was present.

Alistair wanted to say no, he wasn't sitting. He was going to stand and fold his arms and do some demanding himself. Then he recalled he didn't know what this blame was all about, so he obeyed. He was careful not to jostle her as he took his spot behind her on the floor.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Solona stated with a sigh.

Ok, this insulting behavior was getting old. Alistair didn't even care anymore about tiptoeing around her feelings if she wouldn't tell him what bothered her. Solona had to cool off, and frankly, he did too. "I thought I'd have a decent talk, but-" He half rose and stopped when Solona finally rolled over and stared at him. Dark circles bagged under her eyes and the white of her complexion alarmed him.

"Don't you dare leave." This time the words sounded like a plea.

"Maker, tell me what happened."

Solona frowned. "Your dinner tasted like slop!"

Alistair winced at her reprimanding tone and what her accusation meant. "You mean... didn't taste good coming up?"

The disgusted groan gave him his grim answer.

"The others are fine," Alistair added helpfully, hoping to salvage his pride. He always joked about eaters getting sick. Nobody had truly upchucked from his meals.

When Solona didn't reply, Alistair looked off. Wrong move.

He went for the honest tactic. "It's not like I targeted you to make you sick."

Sure, he made unnervingly mucky-looking stews, but they tasted great. Obviously she didn't think so, and he thought it best wise not to air his reservation.

Keeping that thought to himself seemed to be the best move he made all today. Solona looked nicely at Alistair and waved him off. "Can you find out if anyone has any nausea medication?"

Alistair felt buoyed. She stopped shooting him with mental fireballs at long last! He got up, ready to go.

- THE END -


End file.
